St. Landry democrat., 1887-06-18

which stephen prayed, what 0lrectlOn
will that take! What guide will escort
it? What gate will open to receive it !?
What cloud will be cleft for it's pathway !?
After it has got beyond the light of our
sun, will there be torches lighted for it
the rest of the way? Will the soul have
to travel through long deserts before it
reaches the good land? If we should
lose our pathway, will there be castle
at whose gate we may ask the way to
the city? o, this mysterious spirit
within us! 1t has two wings, but it is
in cage now. 1t is locked fast to keep
it: but let the door of this case open the
least, and that soul is off. Eagles wing
could not catch it. The lightnings are
not swift enough to take up with It..
When the soul leaves the body it takes
fifty worlds at bound. And have no
anxiety about it? Have you no anxiety
about it? | do not care what you do
with my body when my soul is gone, or
whether you believe in cremation or in
humation. l shall sleep just as we'll in a
wrapping of sackcloth as in satin lined
with eagles down. But my soul-before
I leave this house this morning | will
find out where it is going to land. Thank
God for the intimation of my text, that
when we die Jesus takes us. This an
swers all questions for me. What
though there were massive bars
between here and the city of light,
Jesus could remove them. What though
there were great Saharas of darkness,
Jesus could illume them. What though
I get weary on the way, Christ could lift
me on His onnipotent shoulder. What
though there were chasms to cross, His
band could transport me. Then let
Stephens prayer be my dying litany
Lord Jesus, receive my spirit 1t may
be in that hour we will be too feeble to
say a long prayer. 1t may be in that
hour we will not be able to say the
Lords PRAYER" for it has seven petit
tions. Perhaps we may be too feeble
even to say the infant prayer our mothers
taught us, which John Quincy Adams,
seventy wears of age, said every night
when he put his head upon his pillow:
Now l lay me down to sleep,
Ipray the Lord my soul to keep.
We NAV be too feeble to employ either
of these familiar forms but this prayer
of Stephen is so short, is so concise, is so
earnest, is so comprehensive, we surely
ceive nv spirit" O, if that prayer is an
swered, how sweet it will be to die This
world is clever enough to us. Perhaps it
has treated us great deal better then we
deserved to be treated; but if on the dy-
ing pillow there shall break the light OF
that better world, we shall have no more
regret about leaving a small, dark, damp
house for one large, beautiful and capa-
cious. That dying minister in Philadel-
phia, some years ago, beautifully depicted
it when, in the last moment, he threw up
his hands and cried out II move into
the light p
Pass on now, and | will show you one
more picture, and that is Stephen asleep.
With pathos and simplicity peculiar to
the Scriptures, the text says of Stephen:
He fell asleep" co." you say, what
place that was to sleep! A hard rock
under him, stones falling down upon
him, the blood streaming, the mob howl
ing. What place it was to sleep"
And yet my text takes that symbol OF
slumber to describe his departure, so
sweet was it, so contented was it, so
peaceful was it. Stephen had lived
very laborious life. His chief work had
been to care for the poor. How many
loaves of bread he distributed, how many
bare feet he had sandaled, how many
cots of sickness and distress he
blessed with ministries of kindness
and love, I do not know; but
from the way he lived, and the
way he preached and the way he died,
| know he was a laborious. Christian.
But that is all over now. He has pressed
the cup to the last fainting lip. He has
taken the last insult from his enemies.
The last stone to whose crushing weight
he is susceptible, has been hurled.
Stephen is dead! The disciples come.
They take him up. They wash away
the blood from the wounds. They
straighten out the bruised limbs. They
brush back the tangled hair from the
brow, and then they pass around to look
upon the calm countenance of himwhO had
lived for the poor and died for the truth.
Stephen asleep! l have seen the sea
driven with the hurricane until the tan
gled foam caught in the rigging, and wave
rising above wave seemed as if about to
storm the heavens, and then | have seen
the tempest drop, and the waves crouch,
and everything become smoothed and
FURNISHED as though a camping place for
the glories of Heaven. SO | have seen a
man, whose life has been tossed and
driven, coming down at last to an in
finite calm, in which there was the hush
of Heavens lullaby. Stephen asleep: l
saw such a one He fought all his days
against poverty and abuse. They ira
duced his name They ratified at the
door-knob while he was dying, with duns
for debts he could not pay; yet the peace
of God brooded over his pillow, and
while the world faded, Heaven dawned,
and the deepening twilight of earth's
night was only the opening twilight of
Heavens morn Not sigh. Not tear.
Not struggle. Hush! Stephen asleep!
have not the faculty to tell the
weather. I can never tell by the setting
sun whether there will be a drouth or
not. I cannot tell by the blowing of the
wind whether it will be fair weather or
foul on the morrow But can prophesy,
and I will prophesy what weather it will
be when you, the Christian, come to die
You may have it very rough now. 1t
may be this week one annoyance, the
next another annoyance. 1t may be this
year one bereavement, the next another
bereavement. Before this year has
passed you may haveto beg for bread, or
ask for scuttle of coal or pair of
shoes; but spread your death couch
amid the leaves of the forest, or
make it, ont of the straw of a manners